


Friday Night Entertainment

by Andian



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Double Oral Penetration, Dubious Consent, Fake AH Crew, Light Dirty Talk, M/M, No Safeword
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:54:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24704887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andian/pseuds/Andian
Summary: He was about to get fucked by two of the Fakes, Jon realized. They had a body count higher than the amount of people Jon had slept with and could do whatever the fuck they wanted with him. And still Jon's cock was achingly hard.(Or: Local Los Santos Radio Host Jon gets a late night visit from two of the Fakes.)
Relationships: Jeremy Dooley/Ryan Haywood, Jeremy Dooley/Ryan Haywood/Jon Risinger
Comments: 1
Kudos: 46





	Friday Night Entertainment

“This has been On The Spot, live from Los Santos. Hear you again tomorrow night.” Jon waited for the music of his outro theme to finish playing before he pulled off his headphones, scratching his head as he let a loud yawn. It had been a good show, even though he had been more than just a bit tired, having barely slept and having basically prepared his show between ad breaks and music.

“Damn Fakes,” he grumbled softly under his breath as he pushed the buttons on the broadcast console, powering it down until tomorrow. The gang had once again wreaked havoc all over the city, close enough to Jon’s apartment for a less than restful day. And he was a Los Santos native; he was normally more than used to the sounds of helicopters and explosions.

Their last shenanigans were probably why the station had been so empty too this evening. The woman who normally did the tech support for Jon’s show had called in, mumbling something about two helicopters having come down close to her apartment. Jon had enough experience to do the technical parts of his show on his own, though it had been more exhausting than usual this evening. He scratched his neck, idly thinking about getting back home, his warm and wonderful bed waiting for him there.

Then he heard a noise. A loud bumping coming from the hallway. He frowned. The normal crew had left hours before, leaving only Jon behind to do his show. Had Miles forgotten something again? An uneasy feeling came over Jon, one that years of having lived in and survived Los Santos had taught him to pay attention to.

Slowly he made his way to the door of the recording studio, opening it a bit to take a look outside.

His heart almost stopped. Two men were in the hallway, both of them holding guns. One was wearing a skull mask, the other one was wearing a yellow face mask, clashing horribly with his purple jacket.

Jon knew those masks. Fuck, everybody in Los Santos knew them. The Vagabond and Rimmy Tim. Armed. In his goddamn radio station.

He was going to fucking die.

He suppressed a fearful whimper, his mind racing. How the hell had they gotten inside? Why the hell had they come here? Were the rest of the Fakes around?

And most importantly, how could he make sure they weren’t going to notice him? Panicked he looked around the small recording studio. It was sparely decorated, with only the necessary furniture and he couldn’t very well hide in the isolation now, could he?

He had to suppress a hysterical giggle at the thought of him hiding in the wall. Then a sudden voice outside the room made him flinch violently.

“Nobody here, Lil J” The voice was deep and rough and a shudder ran down Jon’s spine as he heard it.

“Gonna lay low until Gav gets the cops of our backs, I guess,” another voice, slightly louder answered him. Part of Jon, the part that had been running a successful radio show for the last five years, thought about recording them. Few civilians had heard any of the Fakes talk that unguarded. Even fewer had lived to tell the tale.

He likely wouldn’t be among them though if they found him recording their private conversations.

Inching away from the door, Jon pressed himself against the wall, trying to will his rapidly beating heart to calm down. Too close to the door, his muddled mind remarked. Too close. Get away from them.

Eyes still fixed on the door he took a step back, away from it. Then another one. Then one more.

And then his foot tangled into the cable of the microphone. With a loud crash it came falling down and down with it went Jon.

For a moment there was silence, the type of silence that seemed to stretch into a horrible eternity before the inevitable happened.

The door was torn open and the two men rushed into the room, guns raised.

From up close the masks and the guns looked even scarier.

“Fuck, please don’t!” Jon’s voice was shaking. One of the men, the one with the yellow mask, pointed his gun at his forehead.

“Are you alone?” he growled. Jon noticed that his voice sounded deeper than it had before. Not that the man wasn’t already intimidating enough.

“Y-yes,” he managed. “Please, don’t shot me,” he then added.

“Did you call the cops?” the man with the skull mask, the Vagabond, Jon’s mind not so helpfully supplied, asked.

“No, didn’t have time,” Jon said and then almost bit his tongue. Of all the stupid things to say, this was probably the worst.

The man with the yellow mask huffed out a laugh. It didn’t sound friendly but he lowered his gun so it was now pointing at Jon’s chest and not his forehead anymore.

“If you’re stupid enough to say that out aloud, you’re probably also stupid enough to tell the truth,” he then said. His brown eyes seemed to pierce Jon and Jon shifted uncomfortably under the weight of them.

“We should still kill him,” the Vagabond said. Out of the two, he definitely looked like the scarier one. Black leather jacket with the skull mask. He was close enough that Jon could see smudged black paint through the eye holes of his mask.

His shoulders tensed and he stared at the ground, unable and unwilling to further look at the man.

“No need,” the man with the yellow mask said. He forced Jon’s chin up with the barrel of his gun. “He’ll be good, won’t he?” 

Jon swallowed. He could feel the press of the gun against his throat as the man’s eyes seized him up coldly.

“Yes,” he managed to force out. “I’ll be … I’ll be good.”

There was a long moment where the man seemed to weight his words but then he moved the gun away from his throat and Jon let out a soft sigh of relief.

“Lil J,” the Vagabond said from the door and the man with the yellow mask –Lil J, he just almost got shot by Rimmy Tim whose actual name started with a J - made a dismissive hand gesture.

“If he causes any trouble, you can have him Vagabond.” J then said over his shoulder and another cold shudder ran down Jon’s spine.

The Vagabond said nothing. Just walked to him and pulled Jon up from the floor by his shirt. Jon’s hands automatically came up to grip his wrists but he quickly thought better of it and let them fall down again. The Vagabond roughly pushed him on his chair.

“We’ll stay here,” he said, somehow even this simple statement sounding like a threat. “Be good and you might make it out alive.”

“Real bad luck you were around,” J said. He had started looking around the room, idly touching a few of the buttons on the broadcast console. “You work here?”

Jon was so thrown by the question and the utter bizarreness of having the guy who had almost shot him moments ago attempting to make small talk that he didn’t answer for a few moments.

“I, yes, I work here. I do a show,” he then stuttered out. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw the Vagabond moving behind his chair. It was an uncomfortable feeling, not being able to see the man with the skull mask anymore.

“What type of show?” J asked, turning back to him. He sounded genuinely curious.

“Talk show. And sometime a quiz show.” It had been hard to pitch and it was even harder explaining it to two of the most dangerous criminals in the city.

“Sounds weird,” J said and if the man didn’t have a gun he seemed more than willing to use, Jon would have bristled at that. The weird mix between small talk and interrogation was however disrupted by the sound of a phone ringing.

Jon flinched violently at the sound and J turned towards the phone. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see the Vagabond moving closer towards him.

“Who would be calling?” J asked.

“My boss probably,” Jon squeaked out.

“Would it be weird for you not to answer?”

“Probably?”

J looked at the Vagabond over his shoulder. Whatever kind of silent communication was going on, it must have come to a conclusion. Because suddenly there was a knife on his throat and the Vagabond leant down.

“One wrong word and you’re dead,” he whispered into Jon’s ear and Jon didn’t dare moving, too afraid of cutting himself on the blade.

J meanwhile picked up the phone and pressed it against Jon’s ear.

“Took you long enough,” Miles immediately said.

“Sorry, I was … I was cleaning up,” Jon said, almost on auto-pilot. He was forced to look straight ahead to be able to talk into the phone but he could still feel the pressure of the knife against his throat.

“Just wanted to remind you to lock up after you. The Fakes are on the run in the neighborhood, I’ve heard. Don’t want them to break in.” Miles let out a laugh at the other side of the line and Jon had never in his life felt less like laughing.

The knife pressed closer against his throat though, a silent warning and Jon forced out a laugh. It sounded hollow and fake to his own ears.

“I’ll lock up,” he then said. “Listen, Miles, about the show tomorrow…” Maybe he could send Miles a message like this, some hint that he was in deep trouble.

“It’s fine, tell me tomorrow. Gotta run.” And with that Miles hung up and Jon’s last hope vanished in thin air.

J pulled the phone away from his head, putting it back on the table.

“About the show tomorrow,” he then repeated slowly. “Something important you wanted to tell him there?”

“Just … just stuff about a guest,” Jon stuttered.

“Really,” J said. “Cause it sounded like you were thinking about maybe saying something else there.”

He leant closer down to Jon.

“Which would be a pity, cause I did promise Vagabond here you’d be good for us. Didn’t I?”

“I think you did,” the Vagabond growled behind Jon.

“He is quite good with a knife, you see. Would be a pity if he had to use it.”

The knife on his throat slowly inched up and Jon didn’t dare move. It softly touched his skin, not enough to scratch him but a sharp reminder of the possibility.

“Such a pretty face,” the Vagabond mumbled in his ear. “Wouldn’t want it to get messed up, now would we?”

He could feel the Vagabond’s hot breath against his neck, a contrast to the coldness of the knife. J meanwhile had leant even closer to him, lazily watching the movement of the knife on Jon’s throat before suddenly reaching out and softly tracing his thumb along Jon’s artery.

“It really is quite a pretty face,” he mused. His thumb came up, almost touching Jon’s lip. “Shame if something happened to it.”

The fear rushing through Jon was twisting, half-changing into something else. Too much touching, too close, the both of them, and Jon had had some rough sex before and also some sex that had certainly been reckless and stupid instead of safe and sane. But this should have been too much, even for him.

Still, blood rushed to his cock and he almost shifted uncomfortably in the chair before he remembered the knife and the men around him.

Something must have still given him away though because J’s eyes suddenly wandered down to his crotch.

Something dark sparked in his eyes.

“Or maybe you actually wouldn’t mind if we got a bit creative,” he said. His thumb moved up and fully came to rest on Jon’s lips. Jon felt heat rushing through his cheeks, both due to embarrassment and something else.

“I think he likes this, Vagabond,” J said, a mocking edge to his voice. “Is it the knife? Or the person holding it? The mask is rather hot, I agree.”

Jon wanted to protest, wanted to tell them that it was just his body fucking him over here but then J pressed his thumb against Jon’s lips and beside every rational part of his brain screaming at him not to, he opened his mouth, letting the finger slip inside.  
  
“Or is it me touching you?” J asked. He pushed his thumb deeper into Jon’s mouth as it wandered over Jon’s tongue, pressing down on it. Jon could feel himself drooling slightly.

“Or maybe both of us,” the Vagabond said behind him. He was still close enough to whisper into Jon’s ear and another shudder ran down Jon’s spine, only intensified by the feeling of J’s finger in his mouth.

“Or maybe both of us,” J agreed. He pulled his thumb of Jon’s mouth and some part of Jon, the part that reacted to being in mortal danger by getting hard, felt robbed.

“Which one is it?” J asked. Jon blinked at him confused, his mind dizzy and unable to fully comprehend the question.

“He asked you something,” the Vagabond growled. “Answer. Him or me? Or both?”

A hot wave flushed through Jon, boiling in his stomach, arousal and humiliation mixing together at what he was about to say.

“Both,” he mumbled. His face was burning and his cock was so hard, it was leaking against his pants.

“I didn’t quite hear that one, did you Vagabond?”

“No. I think he should repeat it. Louder.”

“Both!” it broke out of Jon. “It’s both of you!”

J’s eyes crinkled in a way that made the wide smile underneath the mask very obvious.

“Well, would you look at that,” he said over Jon’s shoulder to the Vagabond. “Seems like we got ourselves something to pass the time with.” Slowly he let his eyes wander down over Jon, very obviously checking him out and lingering on Jon’s crotch.

Heat pooled in Jon’s cheeks and his lower stomach at the intensity of J’s look.

A hand then suddenly was wrapped around his throat replacing the knife.

“And here I thought this would be a boring evening,” the Vagabond said, squeezing his throat slightly. He was so close, Jon could feel his deep voice rumbling against his back. Another shudder ran through him, his breath coming faster.

The Vagabond’s hand around his throat wandered up, squeezing his chin and forcing Jon’s mouth to gape slightly open.

“You want his mouth, Lil J?” the Vagabond asked. Part of Jon rebelled at being treated like a piece of meat. A bigger part of him preened under the attention, wanted to sit straighter and present himself in more enticing ways.

“It is a pretty mouth,” J said, a considering tone in his voice as he stared at Jon’s mouth. His hand came up again, swiping over’s Jon’s lower lip before pushing two of his fingers back into his mouth. They laid heavy on Jon’s tongue not moving but further holding his mouth open and Jon reflexively swallowed.

“And seems like he knows how to use it,” the Vagabond said behind him. His hand was still on Jon’s chin, still forcing his mouth apart and Jon suddenly had a vision of him holding it open while J fed something beside his fingers into Jon’s mouth. Fuck, Jon thought almost feverish. He was so hard in his pants, it was becoming painful.

A laugh came from J.

“Want to share?” he asked the Vagabond and Jon couldn’t hold back his moan at that.

Thankfully either neither of them noticed or they didn’t care. With the way the Vagabond was holding his chin he couldn’t see clearly what was going on, could only hear what the two were talking about. There must have been some silent form of communication going on though because suddenly the hand on his chin and the fingers in his mouth were gone.

Roughly he was pulled out of the chair.

“I bet he looks even better on his knees,” the Vagabond’s voice said above him and then Jon was suddenly on the floor, staring up at the two of them.

Having both of them in his sight, looking down at him, J with a dark glint in his eyes while the Vagabond was wearing his skull mask, made the situation a lot more real than it had been before.

He was about to get fucked by two of the Fakes, Jon realized. They had set Los Santos aflame mere hours ago, had a body count higher than the amount of people Jon had slept with and could do whatever the fuck they wanted with him.

And his cock was still achingly hard. If there had been any doubt about how messed up Jon’s survival instincts were when it came to sex, this was without a doubt the final piece of evidence.

A slap on his face interrupted his train of thoughts, hard enough to sting.

“You need instructions? This isn’t your first time, is it?”

Jon couldn’t hold back the snort at J’s question.

“Not by a long shot,” he mumbled, his mouth running away from him once more.

“Good,” the Vagabond said. “Then get to it.”

Rude, Jon thought and then almost laughed because really, this was the last of his problems right now. Trying to still his shaking hands, fear or excitement, he couldn’t really tell anymore, he reached out, going for J’s zipper first. He had barely pushed his boxers down and pulled out his cock, which Jon noticed with some grim satisfaction was almost as hard as his own already, when the Vagabond stared unzipping his own pants.

“Impatient, Vagabond?” J asked, chuckling slightly. The Vagabond didn’t answer, just fished out his cock. Jon couldn’t help staring at them, feeling slightly intimidated, all of a sudden. They weren’t small by any standards, both of them not even fully hard yet. J reached for him, slightly slapping his face again.

“Open up,” he ordered. Without thinking Jon’s mouth fell open. There was no warning, no moment of rest given for Jon to collect himself. J pushed inside his mouth, all the way back into his throat, making Jon choke. He swallowed around him, tried to take him as deep as he could as he forced his throat to relax, relieved that at least J hadn’t started moving yet.

Another laugh and another pat on his cheek that was more akin to a slap.

“Good,” J said. “Very good. He looks pretty like this, doesn’t he, Vagabond?”

“Very pretty,” the Vagabond agreed. Warmth curled in Jon’s stomach, part of him keening at the words, another part being embarrassed by them. He decided to concentrate on the cock currently in his mouth, tried to lick the underside of it as much as he possible could.

It seemed to trigger something in J because all of a sudden he started to move, pulling out almost completely before roughly trusting back inside. Jon was prepared enough to not choke this time, just took him deep into his throat. J gave him no time to relax before he pulled out once more, setting a rough pace as he started fucking Jon’s throat.

“Fuck,” J groaned. His hand came up to rest on Jon’s head, not holding it, just a constant pressure. Part of Jon wanted him to grab his hair and hold his head still as he fucked his mouth.

He seemed to get his wish from another source as the Vagabond’s hand suddenly came down and burrowed itself in his hair, roughly pulling him away from J’s cock.

“Ah, I was having fun,” J protested though he didn’t sound serious in his complaint. He moved aside a bit, his hard cock, now wet with Jon’s spit, still close to Jon’s mouth.

The Vagabond said nothing, just pushed himself into Jon’s mouth. He was bigger than J and even rougher, twisting his gloved hand in Jon’s hair as he set a brutal pace. Jon could feel his eyes watering and was fully tempted to just close them and let them do whatever they wanted.

But to his right J had begun slowly jerking his cock as he watched Jon’s mouth getting fucked and the sight, mixed with the sensation of almost choking every time the Vagabond buried himself deep in Jon’s throat, was too good to ignore.

Suddenly though the Vagabond stopped moving, his cock still deep in Jon’s throat. Jon forced himself to breathe through his nose, unable to move away or closer on his own with the Vagabond’s iron grip on his hair.

“Thought we were going to share,” the Vagabond said to J.

“You looked like you were having so much fun on your own,” J said, still lazily jerking himself off.

“It’s always more fun with you.”

“Aww, how sweet.”

There were some undertones to this conversation Jon wasn’t quite getting but it did suddenly occur to him that with how casual the two of them were about this entire thing, it probably wasn’t the first time they had done something like this. A sudden image appeared in his mind, J on his knee in front of the Vagabond, sucking him off the same way Jon was doing right now. He shuddered, his cock, still painfully hard even though it hadn’t even been touched yet, spilling even more pre-cum into his already drenched boxer shorts.

He didn’t have time to further consider this very enticing thought, because suddenly there were two cocks forced into his mouth. One of them started moving almost immediately, Jon not even sure which one it was exactly, with the two of them soon both fucking his mouth again.

They couldn’t go far enough into his throat to choke him again but rather stretched out his mouth. His cheeks were bulging with two cocks inside and Jon let out a whimper at the feeling of it all, the pain blurring together with the pleasure until it became one intoxicating mix going directly to his groin.

God, he so desperately wanted to touch his own cock but he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to.

“Please,” he managed to gasp out, his mouth wet and bruised, during a precious few seconds where both of them had pulled out of his mouth at the same time. “Please, I want to … I need to…”

J laughed, a slightly mocking undertone to it.

“This isn’t enough for you, pretty?” he said. But he stepped forward a bit, his shoe coming up to rest on Jon’s groin and Jon let out a desperate groan at the contact, immediately beginning to grind against it.

“So desperate,” the Vagabond said above him and Jon didn’t care. There was spit mixed with pre-cum running down his chin, his lips were red and bruised and his pants were completely ruined. He was beyond trying to preserve his dignity. All he wanted was for the two men to continue fucking his face while he got himself off.

The men seemed to have similar plans, their thrusting increasing and growing more erratic. There was no warning when the Vagabond suddenly pulled out, the hand in Jon’s hair tightening even further as he came on Jon’s face.

He managed to close his eyes in time, his own desperate rutting only increased by the feeling of come slowly dripping down his cheeks. The sight of it must have been enough to push J over the edge too. With one last thrust he buried himself deep in Jon’s throat. His hand came down on Jon’s head, above the Vagabond’s hand, and then he also came, giving Jon no choice but to swallow every drop he spilled down his throat.

He pulled out then and Jon gasped for air, feeling hot and flushed all over. He was still desperately grinding against J’s boot, so close, all he needed was just a little bit more to be pushed over the edge.

He got it when the Vagabond, whose grip on his hair had faltered when he had come, suddenly tightened his hands again and forced his head up so he was staring up at both of them. They were watching him and the mix of the pain, attention and the pressure against his cock became too much.

With a loud groan he came into his pants, shuddering through his orgasm, more intense than any other he could remember.

The Vagabond let go of his hair finally and Jon moved slightly, suddenly becoming aware of his aching knees and the wet spot in his pants. There was silence in the recording room then, the only sound audible Jon’s harsh breath.

“That was … not how I expected this to go,” he then heard himself say, his voice rough and ruined. He winced slightly but he was working in radio. Dead air was not an option.

To his surprise J just laughed and reached out to pat him on the head, the gesture being both weirdly comforting and condescending at the same time.

“Same,” he then said. “You proved quite the nice diversion though.”

“Quite nice,” the Vagabond agreed. “I knew you’d know how to use that mouth of yours right.”

A sudden sound stopped Jon from having to come up with an answer to that. The Vagabond pulled out a phone from his leather jacket, staring at the screen for a moment.

“We’re good to go,” he then said. “Cops are occupied with a situation at the pier. Seems like somebody tried to set the ferries wheel on fire.”

“What a lucky coincidence,” J said in a tone that it made it very obvious he considered it to be neither lucky nor coincidence.

He turned away, stopping before he reached the door and throwing one look back at Jon who shifted under the renewed attention.

“It has been nice meeting you,” he said and then he winked at Jon who only felt dull surprise at having Rimmy Tim wink at him at this point. “What’s your name?” J asked and Jon really shouldn’t answer this question.

Having blown two of the Fakes in his recording studio was already unfathomable stupid. Giving them his name would be the Mount Chilliad of idiocy. In the worst case, they might remember it.

“Jon,” he said. “Jon Risinger.” Because after all, they might remember it.

“Till next time, Jon,” the Vagabond said and J nodded and gave a cheerful little salute before the two of them left the studio, leaving Jon, still on his knees, staring after them.

He should clean up, he thought. He should clean up and call the police or at least tell somebody. Tell them that the Fakes had come by and threatened him. Maybe leave out the part where he had blown both of them.

But all he could think about was the Vagabond talking about a next time and J nodding along.

Well, he thought, after all they did have his name now. And with that thought, both scary and deeply exciting, he got to his feet and to the job of cleaning himself up.

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the start of the live show of On The Spot RTX 2019:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QEFeBOd6Lo4&feature=youtu.be&t=90
> 
> Very inspiring, if I may say so...


End file.
